


it starts where it ends.

by lushwang (theangryblob)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: 1930s Anshan, Curses, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Magic, Tags to be added, Time Travel, war time angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27142822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangryblob/pseuds/lushwang
Summary: Injured and alone, Jisoo finds himself in the company of Xu Minghao. It's better and worse than he makes it out to be.
Relationships: Hong Jisoo | Joshua/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Comments: 10
Kudos: 17
Collections: SVT Fear Exchange





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crinkledpages](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crinkledpages/gifts).



> for fear fest! not going to lie, i had a lot of trouble with this prompt, but i hope my dear prompter likes where this is going~

It’s like swimming at first. 

His hands meet something inky and dark and endless, formless when he tries to grab it. His body has gone cold, limbs numb even as he wades, not sure if he’s sinking or rising. Where was the sun? Jisoo blinks, eyelids heavy like lead, and feels the warmth leaving his body, unraveling from him like a loose string, tugging and tugging till there’s nothing left to give. 

When he opens his mouth, nothing comes out - no sound, no air. 

He closes his eyes again. It’s tiring. It’s difficult. There’s something about this place that’s putting him to sleep. This darkness - it wraps around him like a blanket, a shroud. Vaguely, he remembers what it was like to be young, to be held by his mother, tight to her chest. 

Tight - 

He gasps, opens his eyes. There’s nothing in front of him, but he can  _ see _ it, he can see it moving, closing in around his body. He kicks out, reaching blindly with his arms but his limbs are pushed back to his body.

Something squeezes around his chest, his legs, his knees, his neck - Jisoo opens his mouth and screams. 

He scrapes away at the rubble, howling in pain as he drags his body upwards. When he opens his eyes, the dirt beneath his hands is real, dark and solid -  _ ash _ . He coughs, crawls forward and grimaces as the soot smears over his face. 

Jisoo screams again, his voice cracking. His throat is dry, splitting like a string pulled taut, and something sharp shoots up his leg, hot  _ hot _ **_hot_ ** , and he cries out again, body collapsing against the ground. 

“Hey!” 

It’s dizzying - the heat, the humidity, the smoke. He lifts his head, forces his eyes open. Jisoo opens his mouth, but  _ help me _ becomes a garbled whisper, nonsense even to his own ears and he heaves, spitting up nothing but blood. 

“Hey! Are you okay?”

The voice comes closer and closer till they’re right beside him, dropping to the ground. The soot rises with the impact and Jisoo coughs, turning his face away. 

“We can’t stay here - you have to get up. Do you need help? I’ll help you, just hold on, don’t move I think you’re hurt, you look terrible-”

The person turns him over and a new flash of pain shoots up his body - from his leg, he thinks - and it’s so sudden and sharp. He shudders, opens his hazy eyes to the moon, full and bright. The person’s face appears above him, replacing the moon with their own shining eyes. 

Everything else fades to black. 

Even in his sleep, he sees those eyes on him, white and large and clear. 

He groans, sandpaper throat itching as he wakes up, uncomfortably warm. His head is swimming, his brain all dried up and knocking against the inside of his skull. 

Someone speaks but his ears are full of cotton, and the sound comes through muffled and dry. 

Jisoo opens his mouth, tries for a  _ ‘Where am I?’ _ and ends up with a “hhhngghghhh,” before weakly lifting his head off the pillow and repeating “wherhmhhh?”

A hand touches his cheek and Jisoo’s struck by how  _ cold _ it is, flinching back. The hand only follows him, palm pressed flat against his skin and  _ oh _ , okay, checking his temperature. That’s nice. Jisoo eases his head back to the pillow, wearily turning his body so that he’s on his side, facing where he thinks the person is. 

“You’re not from here, are you?”

That’s not a voice he recognizes, but it soothes him all the same, soft and light. As Jisoo becomes more aware, he realizes it’s not just Mandarin - it’s dialect, a little sharper than what he’s used to. Junhui taught him a lot and Jisoo thinks he knows enough to get by on his own, but suddenly he finds himself hesitating, a combination of sleep and confusion weighing his tongue down. 

Jisoo opens his eyes, blinks several times. The light in the room is very dim, hazy almost, till he realises it’s full of dust mites floating in the air. And before him, sitting on the floor next to his futon, is a man, cozily dressed and peering down at him, wide eyes blinking from behind wired glasses. 

He’s not someone Jisoo recognizes, and he inches away, throat clamming up. “Who are you?”

The man pulls away, holding his hands up and pursing his lips. “I’m not going to hurt you. I found you. Don’t you remember?”   
At Jisoo’s silence, he continues, “Under the steel mill? You understand what I’m saying, right?”

Jisoo flinches, “I understand you,” except he speaks slowly, carefully, tongue working around every intonation as clearly as possible, “I speak Chinese.”   
He knows how he sounds, but he’s beyond feeling shy for his lack of skill or sleepiness. There are more pressing matters. He pushes himself to sit up, arms shaking. The man reaches out, but Jisoo makes a desperate noise and forces himself up without help. The movement makes him dizzy, but like this he can meet the man eye to eye. Jisoo looks at him again, properly, and shudders. 

He’s dressed in a rather strange, pressed brown shirt with a high collar, lined in black. Combined with the glasses, he looks like something out of a photograph, like a sepia colored memory of someone’s great great grandfather, except he’s sitting right in front of Jisoo, flesh bright and pinkish, mouth curling into an increasingly annoyed frown. 

Jisoo purses his lips. “Who are you? Where am I?”

He shifts, sitting on his knees, back straight. “I’m Xu Minghao. I found you at the steel mill yesterday.” He brings his hand forward, holding up three fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three.” Jisoo holds up three fingers as well. The man - Minghao’s hands are long and slender, knobbly knuckles and short trimmed nails. There’s something  _ dignified _ about him, and Jisoo bristles, taking his hand down. 

“Lift your hands above your head.” Jisoo narrows his eyes, but does as he’s told. This is a medical test right? He’s read about this before. But he can’t remember hurting himself at any point, and other than the fatigue, he feels fine. His arms weigh at his side like stones, but he grunts, holds them up till the other man nods. “And smile.”

Jisoo sticks his tongue out, and the man laughs, throwing him off. It’s so  _ bright _ , sweet and tinkling like a bell. Jisoo’s eyes widen at the sound. 

“Alright, I guess you’re fine then. Do you have any pain in your leg?”

“My leg?”

Minghao tilts his head, an amused look in his eyes. “You hurt your leg. Don’t you feel it?”

Jisoo blanks, before lifting the blanket off his body. There’s a bandage wrapped all the way around his shin, and  _ ah _ , the ache makes sense, the heaviness to his body. He feels both alarmingly light and weighed down at the same time, like feeling the blood leave his body and leave him behind. He wiggles his toes, tentatively stretches his leg out. Immediately, he regrets it, a sharp pain shooting up his knee and Jisoo falls back, making a choked sound, fists clutching the sheets. “What- what’s wrong with my leg?”

Minghao touches his hand and Jisoo takes it, squeezes his palm like it’ll take the pain out of his body. “The explosion at the mill yesterday, you really don’t remember? You really don’t-”

“What is a mill?!” He wishes he could swear, cuss out Minghao just to get rid of this confusion because these are words that Jisoo doesn’t understand and it  _ hurts _ , his body  _ hurts _ , his leg feels like it’s being severed at the knee. He glares at Minghao, squeezes his hand tighter. 

“Hold on, hold on, calm down. Calm, calm down.” Minghao puts a hand on his thigh to stop him from squirming - when did Jisoo start? - and shushes him gently. Jisoo shudders, whimpering before he can stop himself. It  _ hurts _ . 

“The metal factory. It was supposed to be taken over by Showa next week, but there was a gas explosion. There’s rumors going around that it was on purpose.”  
He looks at Jisoo, inspecting him, and Jisoo shrinks. What the hell?

“What.. what is Showa?”

Minghao huffs. “Did you hit your head somewhere? I’m asking seriously.”

Jisoo scowls. What’s this guy’s problem? “I wouldn’t know. And where am I? You’re asking me so many questions, but you’re a stranger. I don’t like this.” 

“You don’t like it.” It’s a question, but Minghao’s delivery falls flat, face completely devoid of emotion. 

“I don’t like it!” He knows he sounds, childish and stupid, but how is he supposed to  _ explain _ ? He brings his hands to his eyes, grinding his teeth together. “Why am I here? I don’t understand what’s going on. One moment I was with my friends and the next I’m here. Is this your house? Do you just bring people you don’t know to your house?”

Minghao has the decency to look embarrassed, but Jisoo looks away sharply, feels the hot sting of tears pricking his eyes. Something about this - all of this - isn’t right. He inhales deeply, tries to calm himself and looks around the room. It’s almost claustrophobic, the way it’s too full, packed with books and boxes and rickety furniture heaving with vaguely scientific looking equipment. Jisoo squints, tries to look a little closer, but Minghao draws his attention away.

“I’m sorry. You must be so confused.”

Jisoo looks back at him, lips stiff as he tries to keep himself composed. The panic is still in his chest but it simmers, bubbling away dangerously but not quite rising to the surface. 

Minghao takes this as a sign to continue, fists tight over his knees. “If you have anything you want to ask me, I’ll be happy to answer. I’ll get you some food and some painkillers but I don’t think you’ll be able to walk on that leg for a while. Maybe a couple of weeks.”

“Alright. Alright.”

Jisoo closes his eyes, and Minghao stands up. He peeks through his fingers, watches Minghao’s back as he walks away, throat tight.

Minghao moves to close the door behind him, but meets Jisoo’s eyes as he turns his head. He stares at him for a moment, eyes unreadable, before looking away and closing the door. 

Jisoo doesn’t let his breath till he hears Minghao’s footsteps fading into the distance. He didn’t lock the door.

It’s not long before Minghao comes back, a tray in hand. His back is so straight when he walks - so  _ proper _ , and Jisoo straightens up just watching him, careful to keep his leg from jostling too much. 

“Ah, you’re still awake.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Minghao hums, bringing the tray to him and kneeling on the ground. A bowl of congee, a teapot, and a piece of folded paper. The tea pot is rather plain but it looks exceptionally delicate. Jisoo’s no expert, but it looks like an antique, but white and shiny, as if it were new. 

“You slept for about twenty hours. And your body is still recovering. If you fell asleep by the time I came back, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“After sleeping that long, I won’t want to sleep for a while.”

Minghao snorts, a rather brusque noise that does strange things to Jisoo’s head, made only worse when Minghao smiles at him, smug and unexpectedly handsome. He’s glad he’s sitting down. 

“You’re very strange. You’re not from here, right? You have an accent.”

Jisoo pauses, wonders to himself for a moment how to answer that, before gently lifting the bowl, hands holding it tight so it doesn’t drop. He feels weak, more pathetic than he’s felt in a long time. It’s humiliating, though Minghao seems to take no notice, or pretends not to, at least. “I was visiting this city with my friends. I’m from America.”

Minghao looks genuinely surprised at that. “America? You’re a long way from home.” 

He lifts his spoon but his thumb spasms, cramping painfully, and he drops the spoon back into the bowl, a bit of congee splattering onto his shirt. 

_ Fuck _ . 

Minghao reaches forward, dabbing at his shirt with a handkerchief -  _ where _ did he get that from? 

“Careful - I can help you. Don’t exert yourself so much.”

It’s a  _ spoon _ , but Jisoo lets Minghao take the bowl from his hands, and belatedly realizes that by  _ help _ Minghao means  _ feed _ , and he flushes down to his chest, embarrassed. He’s a grown man, it’s not like his arms have been hurt, this is  _ humiliating _ . 

Minghao stirs the congee, raises a spoonful of it to Jisoo’s mouth. Jisoo holds his gaze while he leans forward and eats it. It’s hot, but not uncomfortable, and tastes a little like ginger. It warms him on the way down. He’d feel better, were it not for the awkwardness of everything. Still, Minghao isn’t commenting on it, so neither will he. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Minghao starts, concerned, “you lost a lot of blood. It’s only natural your body is reacting this way.”

Jisoo edges closer so that he doesn’t have to lean as far. “Are you a doctor?”

Minghao nods. “You can say that. I’m not working currently, but you’re very lucky I found you yesterday. Your wounds aren’t bad, but you bled a lot.” 

Jisoo swallows, reaching for a tea cup and looking away as he sips. He lowers his head, unwilling to look Minghao in the eyes. “So… you saved me, then?”

“You can put it that way.” 

Jisoo sucks in a deep breath. “Thank you. For helping me. I don’t know how to repay you.”

Minghao lifts another spoonful to Jisoo’s mouth, humming. “Don’t worry about that. Just get better soon.”

“Did you find anything else with me? I don’t see any of my belongings.” 

“No,” he shakes his head, “only you. You were missing a shoe too. You were under some rubble, but I doubt we’ll be able to find what you’re looking for if we went there now.” 

Jisoo looks at his hands, at the ripples in his tea. All of this - something about this isn’t right. “We’re in Anshan, yes? And this is your house?”

“Yes.” Minghao raises another spoonful but Jisoo turns his head away. He hasn’t had much, but he’s not sure he can stomach more. 

He feels dizzy. “I- I think I need some rest. I feel sick.”

His phone, his wallet - it’s all missing. He can speak well enough that he  _ could _ get himself back home, but his head hurts just thinking about how he’s supposed to do that if he doesn’t have anything on him. The question of Minghao makes it even worse. It’s unbelievably kind of him, but who brings someone to their house like this? Even a doctor? And he looks rather young - even if Jisoo’s being generous, Minghao doesn’t look much younger than him. He’s not sure someone can become a doctor that fast. 

The bowl makes a sound as it touches the tray, and Jisoo turns back to look at him. Minghao pats his hand. “You need to relax. Just focus on getting better. We can talk more about this after you rest.”

It’s calming, but it doesn’t solve his problems. Jisoo shivers. There’s no point in panicking, no matter how badly his heart is racing in his chest. “Alright.”

“Take some medicine. It’ll help with the pain.” Minghao unfolds the paper to reveal two pills, crudely shaped. That’s not strange  _ at all _ . 

“Are you… sure that’s medicine?”

Once again, Minghao looks at him like he’s sprouted a third ear. “Yes? What else would it be?”

Tentatively, Jisoo reaches out with his hand and takes them, washes them down with his tea. They taste powdery, not unlike regular medicine, but the shape still seems abnormal to him, like they’re home crafted. 

Minghao takes the cup from his hands and sets it down gently. “Just get some sleep for now. I’m cleaning up another room, so when you wake up you can shift there.”

“Thank you. You’re doing a lot for me. Is… this your study?”

Minghao just smiles, easy and sweet, like he gets this a lot. Another peculiarity Jisoo adds to his list of worries. His smile is handsome, rounding out his cheeks and making his eyes shine, lashes fanning out delicately. Another thing to add to his list of worries. 

“Yes, but don’t worry about that, please. You really should just focus on getting better.” 

He helps Jisoo lie down, cold hands on his shoulders and back, easing him slowly till he’s comfortable. It’s odd, but Jisoo can still feel his hands over his skin when he pulls away, even though his shirt was between them. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, unsure of what else to say.

Minghao brushes his hair away from his forehead, the action unexpectedly tender, and Jisoo flushes. “You can thank me by getting better.”

“Rest well.”

Minghao gets up, taking the tray with him and smiling at Jisoo as he closes the door. Jisoo smiles back, small and hesitant, before pulling the blanket up to his shoulders.

It’s only as he drifts off that he realises he never gave Minghao his name. 


	2. Chapter 2

He draws the curtains, fingers tight around the fabric as he leans in to peer out the edge of the window. From here, he can’t quite see the procession, but he can hear the rhythmic beat of the soldiers marching through the streets. It’s a showy procession, welcoming the arrival of another fleet coming in from the coast. 

The midday sun hangs high overhead, but the smog doesn’t lift, instead casting the city in a hazy gray. The rainy season has yet to set in but the humidity has come early, the heat sweeping down like a warning, unforgiving as it plasters itself to his skin. 

What he’d do for an air conditioner - even a fan would work, but there’s nothing of the sort to be found anywhere, let alone in Minghao’s tiny house. 

A cart rolls by the window, filled with barrels, a soldier sitting at the edge, too small for his uniform and the rifle standing straight beside him. A stroke of sunlight reflects off the bayonet, hitting his eye sharply, and Jisoo lets the curtain fall, turning away. 

He feels useless, waiting at home for Minghao to return. He’s tidied as much as he can, even though his crutches slow him to a snail’s pace. But the pile of books on Minghao’s desk taunts him, all their knowledge right in front of him but unintelligible to him. He practices with the newspapers Minghao picks up everyday, but it’s slow going and Jisoo grows frustrated just thinking about how helpless he is now.

The air hangs heavy, filled with dust and the crawling smell of old wood. 

Jisoo picks up his crutches and walks away from the window. It’s no use waiting in front of it, hoping for something interesting to happen. It’s a waste of time and the consequences of someone seeing him are too risky. Minghao has been kind enough to house him so far, but if anyone were to find out, it’d mean trouble. He can’t read the newspapers, but he remembers enough from his history classes to know the best thing anyone can do right now is keep their head down. Minghao is a doctor, but even that won’t help him if someone were to find out he’s keeping a strange man in his home, hidden away from the patrols.

He breaks the tea brick, dropping a few leaves into the bottom of a cup and watching them swirl rapidly as he pours hot water over them. The spiral grows wider and wider before disappearing, a whirlpool that’s gone as soon as it comes. The leaves float for a moment before sinking to the bottom. 

With the curtains drawn, the house is dark, the light muddled and filtered till it’s dim.

It’s depressing. 

The front door opens, it’s hinges creaking, and Jisoo turns to look at Minghao, disheveled but in one piece, briefcase in hand. He smiles - he can’t help it - but waits for Minghao to close the door before he speaks.

“Welcome home. I was just making some tea, would you like some?”

Minghao nods and smiles, but Jisoo can see the slope of his shoulders, how tight they look from being held straight all day. There’s a weariness to Minghao, and it’s only natural, given the situation. Even for a doctor like him, times are scary. One wrong slip, and he’ll lose everything. 

“If you don’t mind.”

Jisoo lets out a laugh, turning to the counter again. “Don’t act like you’re burdening me. It’s just tea.”

_ If anyone here is a burden, it’s me _ .

He doesn’t say that out loud though, because no doubt the pressure of that sentiment is already weighing on Minghao.

Minghao hangs up his coat, taking off the morning’s work like it’s a stone weighing him down. He looks relaxed, but no less exhausted. Jisoo looks him over, then looks away. 

What good will it do to look? 

“Thank you.”  
Minghao comes behind him, taking his cup before Jisoo can even give it to him. His body radiates cold, and Jisoo finds himself leaning in, just for some brief respite. Minghao’s hand comes behind him, resting at the small of his back, cool and fresh. 

“You must be tired, right? I told you to rest.”

Jisoo hums, picks up his own cup to sip. Warm drinks in hot weather don’t suit him, but it’s not like they have an ice maker hanging around - and Minghao doesn’t like cold drinks, as he recalls. He’ll bear with this much, at least. 

“Really Minghao, you worry too much. I’m healing well thanks to you.” Jisoo turns his head, intent to tell Minghao off more, but finds instead that he’s close, too close, standing just behind him.

_ Ah _ . His hair brushed carefully away from his face, the round spectacles that slip down his nose, his cool eyes, half lidded and focused on him.

Jisoo looks away, raising his cup. “I’m fine,” he mumbles into his tea. 

Minghao pulls away, patting his back and setting down his cup. “I know, I know. Go sit down. I’ll prepare lunch.” 

If Minghao notices anything, he’s being polite not to mention it. Jisoo knows better than to say anything, than to hope for more in times like these.

He hobbles to the table, murmuring his thanks as Minghao brings his cup to him. It’s pathetic. It’s like this everyday - living off Minghao’s pity and good graces. It’s a miracle that he doesn’t think Jisoo’s crazy to talk about time travel and the future. But the longer he stays, the more he feels like he’s burdening Minghao. Living off his food while he barely has enough for himself, when he’s already working every day just to keep this roof over their heads. 

“Thank you for setting the rice.”

Jisoo looks up, sees Minghao smiling at him over his shoulder. He looks so out of place in this tiny house, so slender and prim, a gentleman in all this grime. Jisoo smiles back. “It’s the least I could do.” 

The days pass like this. Minghao is easy to talk to, but Jisoo’s tongue weighs heavy with all the things he can’t say. How long till his leg heals? Will he ever walk without a limp? Will it still be like that when he goes back to his time?  _ Will he ever go back to his own time _ ? 

Jisoo looks at the small window, at the dark curtains covering it. The light that comes through is golden and dim, to the point that Jisoo has to light candles during the day sometimes. 

He knows how this war ends, but he has no intentions of being a casualty. 

Before long, he’s sitting at the table, bidding Minghao farewell as he heads out for the afternoon. His work is never finished, no time wasted in between. The door shuts behind him, and Jisoo finds himself alone with the dust mites, silent in the house that seems to swallow up every sound. 

What will he do if Minghao doesn’t come back?

It’s a heavy thought. His situation will only grow more complicated. He doesn’t know anyone else in this world and he can only imagine what kind of conclusions people will jump to if they find him in a dead man’s house. 

Standing up, he forces himself to clean everything away. When the dishes are done, he begins the painful struggle of dusting the ceiling, sneezing as the broom knocks dust onto his face, leaning too heavily on one crutch, but this is the least he can do. If he doesn’t keep his hands busy, he’ll grow anxious. Minghao won’t be back until much later, and it’d be better if he wore himself out before then. 

The days pass just like this.

The processions outside grow louder and more ostentatious, the Rising Sun hoisted at every flag pole above every building as a grim reminder of the reality he’s living in. He can read enough to know there are battles going on in other parts of the country, but even Minghao can’t give him straight answers about that. All the information here is so tightly controlled, and it’s better not to pry too far.

Jisoo lies down. Though his leg heals, he feels wearier every day, like beads tied to his body. Small aches and nothing more, but everyday it grows, till it feels like a mountain has settled into his joints. 

The sun hasn’t even set yet. 

The front door slams open, banging so loud that Jisoo bolts up, heart racing. Had he fallen asleep? No, more important than that, what’s going on?

Minghao shuts the door and locks it in a hurry, tossing his briefcase aside. He doesn’t even remove his shoes. 

“Hao? What’s going on? Is-”

Minghao runs to the study, and in the time Jisoo has scrambled to stand up, he’s returned with a bag, stuffing it with food and bottles. “We don’t have much time. We need to get out of here.”

Jisoo’s eyes widen and he moves forward, one hand on the wall for support. “What do you mean? Did something happen?” 

“Jisoo!”  
He freezes. Minghao has never raised his voice like that before. “Someone saw you in the window. We need to move now before the police come.”

His blood runs cold. How- he was careful everyday, never to peek through more than a crack, and never for more than a ouple seconds. No matter what, he was always careful of this, so  _ how _ …

He wobbles forward, letting go of the wall. “What- what do I need to do? Should I bring anything?”

Minghao stares at him for a long moment, before his mouth curls and he looks away. Jisoo shudders. “Just put your shoes on. We have to go right away.”

_ Don’t slow us down _ .

Guilt runs through him. Everything’s ruined now, because of him? He’s always been uncertain about his time here, but to think it’d all come crashing down so soon, to think that Minghao would wind up getting caught up in this mess because of him… he sways forward, body moving like lead against him as he puts on his shoes. He only has one pair, given to him by Minghao when he first came here and his sneakers were in tatters. He hasn’t worn them even once, not needing to ever leave the house. 

They fit his feet so snugly. It hurts his foot a little, but by now he’s dealt with worse. Minghao opens the door, taking Jisoo’s hand and squeezes it. “You trust me, right?”

Jisoo looks at him, his clear eyes, his sweet face. He was angry a moment ago, wasn’t he? But now he looks as unsure as Jisoo feels, and no doubt even more scared. 

Jisoo nods. “Of course.”

_ I don’t have anyone other than you _ .

Minghao shuts the door behind him, pulling Jisoo out into the warm night, cool hand clasped around his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after having wasted four years as a history student, im very glad for the setting that my prompter allowed me to write hehe


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was.... supposed to be finished by halloween..... to my lovely prompter i am SO sorry that i made plot changes last second

Jisoo slaps his palm over his mouth, biting into his knuckles to keep himself from making a sound. A groan makes its way out between his lips, but with the rain pouring down around them, he hopes that the sound won’t make it far. 

The alley between these two buildings is tiny, so narrow he can’t stretch out both his arms without touching both sides, but there’s an awning over them and it’s dark enough that they can hide here, if just for a moment. Tears burn past his eyes, hot and salty, mixing with the rain drops on his face. He knocks his head back against the wall, whimpering as Minghao works his fingers into Jisoo’s knee, spreading balm over his leg. The medicine feels like it’s burning him, setting every nerve on fire, but he knows how to bear with it. But Minghao’s hands are relentless, the shape of his fingers imprinted on Jisoo’s calf, pressing on his wound as he works the medicine into his skin. 

Jisoo turns his head, watches a squadron of soldiers march past. It’s so dark he can barely see them except for the light reflecting off their helmets, shiny and round and pelted with rain. They pass the alleyway without stopping, and Jisoo feels like all the blood’s been drained from his body.

Minghao yanks his pant leg down and rises to stand, hands coming to hold Jisoo’s waist when he sways, falls forward to press his head against his shoulder. “I’m sorry. Jisoo, Jisoo can you look at me?”

He braces a hand against Minghao’s shoulder, wincing. The pain radiates up from his leg, heat running through him in waves, pushing the air out of his lungs and making it hard to breathe. 

“Jisoo?” Minghao reaches up, cards his fingers through Jisoo’s wet hair. The hand at his waist squeezes, inquiring. 

“I’m fine.” He stands up, swaying slightly, grateful for Minghao’s hold on him. He blinks slowly, lets the water fall from his lashes. “I’m okay.”   
His voice wavers, both from the pain and the proximity. Minghao is so close, inches from his face, eyes flicking over him, inspecting him, taking him in. Jisoo tries to control his breath to keep his weak heart from racing, but it hurts. He squeezes Minghao’s forearm. 

“I’m fine, really. We’ve lost a lot of time. Don’t we need to leave?” 

He doesn’t know anything about the city outside of the walls of Minghao’s home, but he was here once, a hundred years in the future, carefree in the sunlight. He remembers the buildings towering over him, the wide streets, the concrete. The land to the west is flat and empty, devoid of scenery as far as the eye could see. He remembers the drive, the horizon stretched out for a million miles either way, till the city came into vision, grey crags muddying the pale sky. Behind it, the mountains to the east, steep and green. 

Minghao cups his face, thumb brushing over his cheek. His eyes are set like stone, unblinking. Even so, his voice is gentle, soft enough to soothe him. “Don’t worry. We’ll make it there together. I’m not going to leave you.”

He has every reason to leave Jisoo behind. 

It’s why he grabs the collar of his shirt, curls his hand into a fist and laughs, short and loud. “You wouldn’t even think of it.”  
Maybe Minghao already has. But Jisoo already knows what blood tastes like in his mouth and has lost everything else, the ground beneath his feet and the world he’s known his whole life. He’ll keep Minghao in his hands, one way or the other. 

Minghao grins back, patting his face and then pulling away, fixing the cloak over his head once more. He fixes the bag straps over his shoulder and takes Jisoo’s hand. “The patrols should be gone by now. If we hurry we’ll make it out of the city before sunrise.”

Jisoo nods, steps forward, leaning his weight on Minghao. He doesn’t need crutches anymore but he can’t run like he should. It’s nerve wracking, drawing out this escape for hours, worse when he knows Minghao would already be long gone and somewhere safe were it not for Jisoo’s dead weight. It’s all the more reason to squeeze his hand, make sure he doesn’t let go. 

“Okay. Let’s hurry.”

From the base of the mountains, he can see the fog rolling in, pale and white, rising like foam over the city. He’s soaked to the bone but the warm air settles over him, muggy and humid. It’ll be cool the farther they go into the forest, but for now Jisoo grimaces, trudges through the soft earth, shuddering with every step. 

His leg has gone numb, courtesy of the medicine, but after spending the whole night on his feet his bones feel like jelly, wobbling under his weight. 

“Hao- Hao, Minghao,” he gasps, dragging his feet forward for one more step, ankle catching on a tree root and ripping forward. 

He expects to hit the ground but Minghao catches him, Jisoo’s eye closing against Minghao’s solid chest. 

“Let’s stop.” Jisoo nods, lets Minghao lower him to the ground, head cushioned against Minghao’s shoulder. “Take off your shirt. I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

He groans, forces himself to sit up, clumsily undoing his buttons, eyes slipping shut every other second. Minghao touches his forehead, and it just confirms to him that he’s already running a fever. After struggling a great deal he manages to yank his shirt off, exposing his chest to the damp air, heaving with every breath. Minghao’s hand lingers on his shoulder, cool as ice, a gentle reprieve from the heat that burns through him.

Minghao’s hand cups his cheek, thumb smoothing over his lip. He looks at Jisoo, eyes half lidded, lashes long and dark, casting shadows over his cheeks. Jisoo looks back, blinks slowly. “Rest. I’ll wake you up when we need to go.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll keep watch.”

“Minghao, you need to sleep too. You need your strength more than I do.” Arguing hurts at this point, draining what little energy he has left. 

Minghao tugs Jisoo down, presses his head against their bag like it’s a makeshift pillow. “Rest. I’ll wake you up when I’m tired.”

His neck hurts. Jisoo groans, head lolling back. He winces, blinks slowly till the world comes into focus. The trees are tall and thin, greyish bark splintering and striped. The canopy above is thin and the sunlight rushes through, burning hot and white. It makes the air hazy and mirage-like. 

Distantly, he sees Minghao, body turned toward a tree, thin and limber like he could disappear into it. On his back, a mess of black lines, blurred like bark, splintering and sharp. 

“Minghao!” 

Jisoo’s head tilts forward and he groans, pushing himself to sit up. A rush of foot steps, leaves crunching under shoes, and then Minghao is beside him, easing Jisoo into his arms. “Jisoo. I’m here. I’m here, don’t worry.”

He closes Jisoo’s eyes, fingers skimming over his face, his cheeks, his lips. “Rest.”

Against his better judgement, his heart slows, calm washing over him, cold rain in the form of Minghao’s hands on his skin. The world becomes milky and slow, waves that tuck him to sleep and rock him till he shuts out everything but the feeling of Minghao’s touch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> praying to god that i can wrap this up with one more chapter


	4. Chapter 4

It’s like drowning at first. 

The burn in his lungs, squeezing hot and tight around nothing before they traitorously swell with water. It’s a nightmare that comes in waves, pulling him under over and over again. The water crashes around him, clapping into his ear drums, soaking his finger nails till they swell and rip and swirl into the water below, blood following in spirals, a trail that he’ll follow himself. It’s a whirlpool, dragging him down where the light of the moon can’t reach him. 

Dreams aren’t supposed to hurt. It’s why you pinch yourself, to make sure it’s not real.

But has that ever worked? The pain is disorientating. The pain rips up from his heels to his knees, a hangnail that strips him of all his skin, inch by inch. 

When he wakes up, he tastes the blood in his mouth before anything else. The world comes in slowly: the sweat on his skin, cold and drying, the crust in his eyes, the ache in his leg, the blood between his teeth. 

Usually, it’d have him rolling off his bed, face first into the floor and reality. Minghao would help him back up, rub his shoulder till he pried the darkness of his dreams from Jisoo’s lips. 

But when he wakes up, his cheek touches the mossy ground and the world around him slowly becomes solid, changing from salt water to earth and root. 

Above, the moon shines, full and heavy, pregnant with an omen. Clouds roll over the sky, soft and light, light filtering through them like cloth. Jisoo hefts himself up, bracing himself against the rough bark of a tree trunk as he eases his weight off his bad leg. It feels better today - the ache of it makes his side feel heavy, but the shooting pains haven’t come back and he can walk it more than before.

He picks up a branch from the ground, snapping off the loose twigs on it till it’s cleaned up enough for a walking stick. 

Jisoo tilts his head to the sky, eyes mapping out the moon, squinting till he can make out the stars. The smog from the city has cleared up - how far out must they be? He can’t recall moving that much. Did Minghao carry him in his sleep? Unlikely. Strong as he might be, he has a slight frame, and jostling around Jisoo’s dead weight would have woken him up. 

He contemplates calling out, but decides against it. He doesn’t know if he’s alone - it only looks like he is.

Still, he can’t see Minghao at all, turning a full circle and seeing nothing but trees in every direction. Minghao might have left him behind. The thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth, but his heart sinks with the realization that it might be true. He is after all the reason why they had to run, and on top of that, he’s been slowing them down. 

It’s a dark thought - he’d been thrust into this world, into this different time by himself. The loneliness had nearly crushed him, but Minghao had touched his skin, bringing him back to reality, to hope. 

And yet, he’s alone again. 

His chest feels tight, but it’s no dream this time. There’s no water coming up to drown him, no salt in his mouth, no sea to throw himself to in hopelessness. 

Jisoo takes a deep breath, touches his chest to calm himself. He can’t lose it here. He needs to move.

East - away from where he was currently standing, on the other side of this tree, higher into the mountains. There should be a valley once they cut through this pass, and there, a place to hide. 

He stands his branch - his walking stick - up, finds it sturdy enough, and starts, one hand against the tree trunk as he begins his way around, carving out a path for himself.

The wind blows cold, harsh suddenly as he puts himself out into the open, and he winces, shutting his eyes and raising his arm to protect his face. The gust slows suddenly, and he lowers his arm, cautious, and turns his head to look at the base of the tree. On the other side, cast in moonlight, Minghao kneels, shirtless, bloodied fingers pulling off tree bark in a strange pattern of circles and lines. His chest has been scratched up, skin torn and bleeding, he’d fallen and hurt himself, but the flesh of his back is bloodied in a perfect replica of the pattern he’s carving on the tree, as if he’d taken a knife to himself and carved out his own skin. 

He looks up at Jisoo, neck creaking like a branch bending in the wind, eyes blank and whited out. A mix of elation and shock cross his face, both at once, and his face twists in several directions at once, grotesque, like fingers pulling his skin in different ways, before it settles into a smile, teeth sharp and shining as he stares up at Jisoo.

Jisoo screams, raising his walking stick and swinging it, striking Minghao clean in the jaw, knocking him over. 

He drops it and turns on his heel, breaking into a sprint. His thigh burns, his body betraying him, and he nearly trips and hits the ground, but he keeps going, bracing himself on his hands and pushing up again. His palms burn, the skin bruised and shredded, but he clenches them into fists and pushes forward. He doesn’t know how far he’s supposed to go till he’s safe, or in what direction, but he won’t feel safe again till he’s far from Minghao. 

What the hell was that? He looked possessed. He’d looked like someone else wearing Minghao’s face and wearing it wrong.

Jisoo turns his head and there’s nothing behind him: just the trees, and in the distance, bloodied bark, carved out and shining white in the moonlight.

He crashes into something solid, tumbling back, head spinning with the force of it. Nausea overcomes him and the moment his back hits the ground he sputters, bile filling his mouth, overflowing till he turns over and spits out acid, his stomach clenching painfully around nothing. His eyes burn with tears, hot and spilling over his cheeks and he looks up, expecting to have crashed into a tree.

Instead, Minghao stands before him, body solid and pale, toned and muscled where he used to be bony and thin. 

His eyes have cleared, and he looks down at Jisoo, blinking slowly, before he steps forward and puts his foot on Jisoo’s chest, stopping him from getting up. 

“Don’t move.”

His voice is the same at least, light and sweet, once a reprieve from the harshness of the world. Now, it makes Jisoo shudder, a chill running down his spine, even in the warm night. 

Jisoo wraps his hands around Minghao’s ankle, trying to push him off to no avail. He’s heavy as lead - no, a stone, a pillar weighing him down, pushing him into the ground. Immovable. 

“Minghao—Minghao, why are you doing this? What’s going on?” his voice breaks. “You’re scaring me.”

His lip curls in a frown and when he looks at Jisoo, he looks sad suddenly. The moonlight shines down on them, framing Minghao in a pale light, bringing out the softness of his cheeks, and the roundness of his mouth and eyes. He looks young, sweet again, and Jisoo’s traitorous heart twinges, going against the evidence before his eyes, the blood dripping from Minghao’s chest. 

“Just… stop moving. I need to do this. I need you to do this for me.”

“Do  _ what _ Minghao? What are you doing?”

He closes his eyes and the wind rustles his hair. Minghao has always kept it neat and short, but Jisoo remembers what he used to think, touching Minghao’s hair late at night when he was asleep. If things were different, between them—in the world, in their circumstances—would Minghao have kept it long? Would he have been a doctor? Would he have loved Jisoo back?

Minghao opens his eyes and his pupils have disappeared, turned white as paper. “You trust me, don’t you? All this time, you’ve trusted me, can’t you trust me a little bit more?”

Jisoo rakes his nails down Minghao’s shin, drawing blood in thin lines. “ _ Fuck you.” _

Minghao digs his heel into Jisoo’s chest, crushing his sternum. He howls, limbs convulsing, head knocking back into the ground. His blood rushes, hot and screaming, but where, where - the pain is searing, electric as it snaps through his whole body. He can feel it: the bone shards piercing his lungs, blood spilling from his heart. Black spots cover his vision, red, black, black, black - 

Minghao lifts his foot and stomps, and Jisoo lets go of him, hands falling limply at his sides.

The moon, yellowish and pale, swaying in its reflection. He reaches up, hands heavy underwater, straining for the surface. When his fingers break through to touch the cold air, they’re sliced open, blood spilling and clouding his vision. 

A hand reaches down, black claws curling around his wrist, and wrenches him up.

He howls, expels the salt water and blood from his lungs, hot air rushing in to spread his chest wide, forcing his ribs back into place, his back off the ground.

Jisoo thrashes, screams as he rolls over, shoulder blades cracking as they roll into place. His body comes back into being, blood and nerves and skin seared together, cauterized in patterns across his flesh. 

His vision flashes, white hot like fire, and he snaps his head forward, the ground shifting as a gust of wind blows from behind him, directing his sight to Minghao, on the ground and leaning on his arms. He’s covered in sweat and heaving, but all the blood and torn flesh is gone, his body healed perfectly in moments. 

The tears on his own back sting, skin wounded where he’s been ripped open.

“Minghao,” he rasps, throat still sewing itself back together, “what did you do to me?  _ What did you do to me _ ?”

He crawls forward, grunting, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. Minghao pants, catching his breath but he stays where he is, wordless in the face of Jisoo’s agony. 

Jisoo screeches, blood spitting from between his teeth. “ **_What did you do to me?!_ ** ”

Minghao stops him, keeps him steady with a foot against his shoulder, pushing him back to the ground. “You never wondered how you got here Jisoo? Why you came back to my time?”

Jisoo whimpers - Minghao’s strength is gone, but the touch to his shoulder brings him back to his body, makes him acutely aware of all the places he still isn’t whole yet. “What… What does that have to do with this?  _ Hao _ ?”

Minghao sits up, crossing his legs and presenting himself before Jisoo, hands on his knees, menacingly calm. 

“You were unlucky. I needed someone to take this curse from me, and you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I cast a summoning, and you survived it.”   
Minghao reaches down, touching Jisoo’s cheek. Even now, his hands are so cold, a sweet relief to the burn running through him. He whimpers, pressing his face into the dirt to get away from Minghao’s hand. 

“I’m sorry that it had to be you.”

Jisoo grits his teeth. “Fuck off.”   
He’s dizzy, vision spotting. He can  _ feel _ the knobs of his spine rearranging themselves, grinding and scraping against each other, pushing under his skin. “What… what curse? What did you  _ do _ ?”

Minghao pulls his hand away, raking his fingers through Jisoo’s sweaty hair. He’s never touched him like this. It’s infuriating, makes his mind pulse with rage, red hot and feral, and Jisoo snaps his teeth. Minghao hums, smoothing his hand over Jisoo’s nape, thumbing at this loose spin. “It’s nothing complicated. Hard to get the hang of, but you’re smart. You’ll get it soon enough.”

With that, he stands, dusting off his hands and leaving Jisoo to writhe on the ground. “Enjoy the rest of eternity.”

He makes to leave but Jisoo’s arm snaps out, bones cracking in a dozen places. He wraps his fist around Minghao’s ankle, holding him in place with a strength he didn’t know he had. Jisoo lifts his head from the ground, glaring with all his might. 

“I’m going to kill you,” he growls out, squeezing. Minghao kicks him away before he can do damage, but the skin around his ankle is purpling, bruised already. 

Minghao smiles, cold and wide. “Sure. I’ll be dead by the time you find me.”

Jisoo crawls forward, but Minghao steps back, out of reach. “I’m going to kill you. Take this back.  _ Fix this, Minghao _ .”

He tuts. “What happened? You used to be so nice to me. I thought you liked me, Jisoo.” 

Were his legs in any condition to stand, he’d be launching himself at Minghao, ready to scrape the skin off his face and make him take back his words. As it is, he spits blood on Minghao’s feet. “Why did you do this to me?  **Why?** ”

Minghao’s face flickers for a moment, but he takes another step back. “Like I said, you were unlucky.”

He takes another step back, then another, and though Jisoo crawls after him, he keeps himself just out of reach. “You should keep your voice down, Jisoo. If the patrols find you they’re going to figure out pretty soon that you can’t die. Trust me when I say it’s not fun.”

Minghao puts his hands behind his back, firm before he bows. “Thank you for these last few months. Thank you for letting me have you.”

Jisoo thrashes, punching up leaves and twigs, cuts springing forth on his hands. Immediately his arm seizes up, fire spreading down his nerves and he twitches, whimpering. “Fuck you,” he spits, gathering the venom under his tongue and lashing out, “I’m gonna' kill you. I'm gonna' rip your spine out. ”

Minghao stands up, unfazed. 

He steps forward, much to Jisoo’s surprise, before swinging his leg back and kicking him squarely in the head. 

The world shakes and sways, black water pulling him under once more, the sound of Minghao’s voice distant and drowned out. 

“Goodbye, Jisoo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!!!!! to my lovely prompter, im SO sorry that the finale had to come nearly a month after halloween, but its here!!!! i had a lot of trouble deciding how to end this fic, and there were ultimately some scenes that i had to cut to make it work thematically, BUT im happy with how it is now and i hope you like it too <3
> 
> to lamb, my darling friend who beta'd this whole thing for me and encouraged me so much: thank you thank you thank you. im going to kiss you on the lips and take care of you my whole life
> 
> see you all at next year's fear fest~

**Author's Note:**

> hehe except chapter 2 by the weekend.


End file.
